Rowan
The board had become a problem. Not because it was wrong. Because it was right. Too right. I stood alone in my office staring at the collection of maps, reports, photographs, timelines, and notes covering nearly an entire wall.
Three months ago, it had been one attack. Two months ago, it had become a concern. Now it looked like evidence. The kind of evidence that slowly destroyed lives. A red string connected one report to another. Attack locations. Meeting dates. Patrol changes. Convoy schedules. Evacuation plans.
The picture they formed was becoming impossible to ignore. Someone was feeding information to our enemy. And whoever they were, they had access to leadership discussions. A knock sounded at my office door.
"Come in," Mason entered, carrying another stack of reports.
